The Gloaming

We were at our best in the gloaming
that time passage when we neared invisibility
embracing the coming darkness
and plotting our escape
only to curse our cowardliness
from beneath defiled sheets

Morning was a floodlight
that pinned us to our failings
yet we arose to the persuasion
of coincident dreams
a step ahead of the demons
that haunted us

There was never a question
of going through the motions
movement was the theme
on which we survived
that and promises we made
over our shoulders

Promises to oneself can be kept
or forgiven without consequence
promises to others
stumble under the weight of conscience
they have a way of stepping into the abyss
and luxuriating in the fall

Our only promises that ever mattered
were made to each other in the gloaming
when we had caught enough breath to think
just a silent understanding
that back to back we faced both ways
just beyond the past and just ahead of the future